


Come On And Dance With Me

by MissSunFlower94



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballroom Dancing, F/M, Gen, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 04:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 17,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7743232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSunFlower94/pseuds/MissSunFlower94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Former Ballroom champion, Maleficent Moore counts herself lucky that she can even still dance at all and is content with life as an instructor. That is, until one cheeky, raven haired man joins her class.</p><p>And she gets to meet the daughter of her former partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this entirely on tumblr in the summer of 2014 [http://dainesanddaffodils.tumblr.com/otherau]. 
> 
> But I briefly lost my blog this spring and it reminded me that I should have this posted somewhere else.
> 
> It's trash, but it was fun.

Maleficent had been having a particularly bad day. 

Her back ached more than usual, and her legs weren’t behaving correctly - making lessons difficult. She’d fallen, actually _fallen_ , for the first time in over three months, and that did more than enough to make her irritable.

On top of that, she’d taught her first juniors class and come to the unsurprising realization that she really hated children. _Aren’t you glad you dodged that bullet with Stefan now?_ She thought to herself, bitterly. Of course, she wasn’t. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a place she would vehemently argue didn’t exist, Mal knew part of her current hatred stemmed from knowledge that Stefan’s own little beast was the same age as her youngest level class. That little Aurora Royce was already showing promise and had won several competitions in both ballroom and irish step dance. 

She’d once been that little girl, she thought, and quickly cut that train of thought off. It did no good to dwell on where she had been ten years ago, before everything had gone to shit. It had and she had to count herself lucky that she could even dance at all after what had been done to her.

It was in this _cheerful_ mood, as she meticulously closed down, preparing for an evening with a long book and a strong drink, that the tiny bell at the door rang, flaring up a headache that hadn’t really flared down to begin with.

Turning to the door, Mal attempted to keep her voice pleasant. “I’m afraid we’re closed,” _If you missed the hours on the doo_ r, she added silently.

“Saw that,” the young man in the doorway said amiably, raking black hair out of his eyes. His posture clashed with the assurance in his voice; he looked extremely out of his element and unsure why he was even there. Mal wondered if he’d taken a page out of her book and begun drinking already. “Saw you, too, though and thought I’d ask quick, not to bother you.”

“Ask what?” He was silent for a moment, again running fingers through his hair, bristling like an agitated bird. “ _Well_?” She asked sharply. He was clearly uncomfortable but she wasn’t in the mood to be indulgent. The joints for her legs were aching and she just wanted to go home.

Finally he got it out. “You teach here?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like lessons.”

She blinked. Of course, she shouldn’t have been surprised; why else did he come here, what else would he be asking. But this man, on top of looking like he would be more at home in a local pub, did not look the paragon of grace. Still, there was a matter-of-fact to his tone that said his wasn’t something he was asking lightly, or as a joke, a prank, an excuse to get close to an attractive young instructor.

Slowly, raising an eyebrow, she asked, “Why?”

He stood a little straighter, seeming all the more confident now that she hadn’t outright refused. “That’s personal business, if you don’t mind.”

She didn’t. She had personal business of her own. 

At her silence he added. “I’m able to pay, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

It wasn’t. “I don’t do private lessons, you know. You’ll be in a class, and you won’t be dancing with me. Do you understand?”

Realizing his acceptance, he grinned. The smile lit his dark eyes, giving him a look of playful mischief. “I’m heartbroken, I am.” More seriously, he added, “Thank you.”

Embarrassed in the face of such sincere gratitude - she was agreeing to lessons, not saving his life - Maleficent shook her head. “Come monday, 7 pm, I’ll sign you up official then. Too late now.”

“Right, of course. I’ll go. Didn’t mean to keep you, I thought to come in the morning but I was afraid I’d lose my nerve." 

Mal felt her a small smile curve on her face, against her best efforts. He _did_ have a bit of charm about him, more apparent when he wasn’t trying to be. He did leave shortly, thanking her twice more before she had rather forcefully told him to _stop it_ and _go,_ but she found herself in a better mood already.

Perhaps the day had not been a waste after all.


	2. Chapter 2

“And again. One two three and… one two three and.” Mal repeated the count, enforcing it with the tap of the wooden stick at her side, the sound echoing on the wooden floor. “One two three and - Diaval straighten your back, you’re slouching again - and one two - Tricia, could you keep your hands where they’re meant to be.” She added, tiredly. The blonde woman blushed, correcting herself to giggles from her sisters.

A week ago, and all weeks prior, her monday night class had been an uneven number of students. Leaving her to partner with the youngest of three sisters that had been some of the oldest patrons the studio saw - both in age and in years they had been taking lessons. None of them were particularly talented, easily distracted by bickering amongst themselves, but if nothing else Maleficent found their presence an entertainment.

Of course, that week her newest pupil, Diaval, had joined the class. The three women had taken one look at the handsome young man and immediately argued about who would his partner. But Tricia had won out by pointing out that she was the only one who hadn’t had a student partner yet and deserved this, even if it now meant she was too flustered to remember simple steps.

Diaval offered Mal a charming smile over his shoulder. “I really don’t mind,” he said, only adding to Tricia’s blush and giggles from the other dancers. 

Maleficent had to admit Diaval wasn't  _bad_  to look at. Aesthetically speaking. Paler than she was, raven black hair and large black eyes, the contrast further enhanced by what looked to be an entirely black wardrobe. He was quick to smile, surprisingly at ease with a large group of strangers. Though he was as graceless as she’d suspected, he listened and he tried. 

She sighed. “I don’t care whether _you_  mind. I care that she learns properly.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Don’t call me that,” it was the _third time_  she’d told him that. “And stand up straight, will you. Straighten your shoulders. You’re not going to get anywhere with that posture.”

He opened his mouth, looking ready to comment or argue but closed it and shrugged, doing as she told him. Mal let out an inward sigh of relief. Thus far Diaval hadn’t been difficult, per say, but she did wonder if he really had known what he was getting into when he had asked for lessons. She wouldn’t lie and say she wasn’t still curious as to why he’d come, but she wasn’t going to press the issue. He’d said personal and she was the last person to blame another for keeping it that way. 

The lessons progressed for the remainder of the two hour period. People left, quiet and subdued, exhausted. Diaval was the last to leave. He was still, miraculously, smiling.

He must have read her expression because his smile grew, eyes twinkling behind a curtain of sweat damp hair. “Do most people become masters in a day?”

“No.”

“Then I didn’t see any reason to expect that for me” His eyes focused on the wall behind her, as though for the first time. Mal knew what he was looking at. The wall held several plaques, awards from what felt like a lifetime ago. She expected the questions she frequently got. About the competitions, about why they’d stopped, about what had happened.

Instead his eyes fell to the one others missed. “Those your parents?” He asked, with a gesture.

Surprised, she turned to look, though she knew which he spoke of. The top plaque, first place, did indeed belong to them. “It is.”

Diaval was silent, studying it for a moment. “I suppose this all comes naturally to you, then.”

“It did,” she said. Her voice was level but her hands unconsciously smoothed the front of her skirt, wishing she hadn’t said that, wishing he’d go.

Again he read the discomfort and looked away in something like embarrassment. “Sorry. I’ll be off then, ma'am.”

“Stop doing that. It’s Maleficent.”

Just like that, the smile returned. “Really, your parents are named Hermia and Lysander and they missed the opportunity to call you, oh, Titania? Robin?”

“Robin is my cousin’s name.” She said, fighting against a smile.

He ignored her. “But  _Maleficent_? Just seems cruel.”

She rolled her eyes, “Says the man named Devil.”

“ _Diaval._ ”

“Which  _means_  Devil.” He gasped in mock outrage and she lost the struggle, grinning openly. “Now, I’m going home, and I suggest you do the same, unless you’re planning to sleep here.”

Diaval shook his head, but turned obediently to go. “I’ll see you next week, Maleficent.”


	3. Chapter 3

As Diaval had said, he did not master dancing his first week, or first month for that matter.

He was, however, a remarkably quick study. 

Largely, Maleficent figured it came from his skill at following her orders. Although obedience occasionally came with a snarky back comment, she realized he never actually argued, and he always did exactly as she said and remembered the lessons from one week to the next. Whatever his reasons for coming, he’d thrown himself into it and didn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon.

While she’d never say so, she liked watching him learn. Diaval had been right in assuming that this had once all come very naturally to her; she had danced on her father’s toes before she’d even taken her first steps. It was second nature, a part of her. The ease of it, the unconscious natural skill was gone now, but in that she now understood the small victories that came with learning.

“What? Have I done something wrong?” Diaval’s voice intruded on her current thoughts. Mal looked at him, nearly the same height they both stood a head taller than his partner.

“No,” she said, surprised. Another thing she had learned about Diaval was that he was uncommonly observant. She wasn’t fond of that trait; it unnerved her. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re smiling.”

“Am I not allowed to smile?”

“You never smile.” She opened her mouth to reply and he cut her off quickly, “ _rarely_ smile, shall we say. And certainly not without some reason, like my looking ridiculous.”

He did, admittedly, look ridiculous. They were eight weeks into his lessons, and he was learning to tango. Or, at least, _attempting_ to learn it. His partner certainly wasn’t helping; the tango had never been Tricia’s strong point. Maleficent had a hard time remembering if Tricia or her sisters had any strong points when dancing, but she kept that to herself. 

“Your posture is slipping again,” she said instead. “Quit trying to look down.”

“I’m not looking down, I’m looking at her. There’s not much I can do with a foot of height difference.”

Maleficent rolled her eyes, “You shouldn’t _need_ to look at her. In leading, you should be making it so she can anticipate your movements without needing constant eye-contact.”

He raised his eyebrows, a silent gesture he’d seemed to have perfected just for her. It managed to suggest meek obedience with just enough irony to annoy her. She sighed. She _did_ feel sorry for Diaval. At this point, she could tell that he might actually get somewhere if he had another partner - one who actually knew what she was doing. Perhaps closer to his height…

 _No_. She certainly wasn’t going to do that. It had been one thing to help round out an odd number of students but this would be different. Besides, she thought, she had been the one leading when partnering students at loose ends. Mal hadn’t let someone else lead in years - she didn’t think she could. 

Annoyed at herself for entertaining the idea for even a second, even more annoyed at herself for actually missing being someone’s partner, instead of a stand in - missing being _Stefan’s_ partner - Maleficent tried to think of something else. Perhaps if Tricia got heels it would help, though the woman was clumsy enough already.

“Maleficent?” Diaval asked. “Are you alright?” Damn the man, he missed nothing. 

She turned away from him. “Fine,” she said, shortly, turning to find another couple in the room to focus on. She was not his private instructor, after all. "Start again.“ 


	4. Chapter 4

A week later, Maleficent glared at the card in her hand, debating the merits of simply ripping it apart and claiming later that it had gotten lost in the mail somehow. The thought was horribly, _horribly_ tempting.

The card was an invitation, to Aurora Royce’s Junior Blackpool competition, taking place in a month.

No doubt it had been Aurora’s mother, not Stefan, who had sent it. It was not the first time she had been invited to similar events - a misplaced act of charity, Maleficent assumed. Leila Royce wasn’t a fool; she knew all about the previous relationship between her husband and his one-time partner as well the circumstances regarding their fallout. And unlike him, was actually making attempts to make amends. If Maleficent ever were to accept, it would be for her sake, not her husband’s and certainly not their daughter’s. 

However, as it stood, she hated Stefan more than she admired his wife’s tact, and to see the man again would unearth a whirlwind of emotions she had spent the past ten years carefully locking down. She didn’t need that kind of relapse in her life. The invites were returned with a short letter or clipped phone conversation. _No, she would not be able to attend._

And what would attending do anyways, but serve to throw back in her face what she had lost. No doubt there were still people in those circles who would remember her, what she’d once been capable of. She pictured their pity. She imagined Stefan’s smug grin, his chance to share their story again, painting himself over again the hero, and _wasn’t she lucky_ he had saved her.

Her fingers twitched. How she wanted to rip the stupid invite. 

The bell at the door rang before she could succumb to the temptation. Still gripping the paper, she went to the main hall.

“Good evening,” Diaval said cheerfully, shaking out an umbrella with one hand, the other holding a plastic bag, presumably holding his dinner. Mal found she wasn’t actually surprised to see him, although class wouldn’t start for another twenty minutes. 

He took one look at her, her fist still white knuckled around the letter, her expression like a thundercloud. “Or not.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry I’m so early. Wasn’t sure what traffic would be with the weather - roads are practically lakes right now - and figured you’d prefer early to late.”

He was babbling, and Mal had a feeling he knew it. She sighed, trying to let herself be distracted by his small talk; she’d be no good to anyone if she was this tense when class began.

“Just don’t get any crumbs on the floor.”

He grinned. “I ate already - just needed somewhere to toss it.”

Her lips twitched and she held out her hand. As he handed it over his eyes flicked to the paper still crumpled in her free hand. She waited for the question, but it didn’t come, so she retreated to the back without a word.

 _How did he manage it?_ She marveled, throwing the bag of plastic and leftover sushi out and tossing the invitation on her desk - she’d rip it later, she told herself. Diaval somehow knew both exactly what to say to her and exactly when _not_ to say anything. Even Robin, her cousin and closest friend, wasn’t as good at it as this man who hardly knew her. She didn’t know what to make of it.

Shaking her head, she came back out to find Diaval _very seriously_ attempting the steps of the tango with thin air for a partner. His clothes were still damp and his hair was in his eyes and she had never seen anyone look both charming and ridiculous. Mal coughed, trying very hard not to laugh.

He looked at her, his eyes dancing with laughter. “What? I should practice with all this extra time, wouldn’t you say?”

“Not if you’re practicing wrong.” He stopped, raising his eyebrows and she sighed, elaborating. “You’re off any sort of tempo, for one. If you can’t practice to music always say the counts aloud. And you’re holding your ‘partner’ too far away.” Coming over, Maleficent grabbed his arm, hoisting it to it’s proper position. He offered her no resistance, just watched her carefully. As always, he took the lessons seriously. “She should be,” looking away, she moved to adjust his other arm. “… _here_.”

Diaval was silent, giving her the smallest nod.

They looked at each other a moment, and Maleficent felt her earlier frustration build in her again. Frustrated that it had been so long since she’d danced for herself, with a partner on _her_ level, and frustrated with how badly she wanted that now. Frustrated that Stefan had to be the last person she’d danced with - that she still couldn’t think of how her old life had been without thinking of him, too. 

She backed up, and nodded at Diaval. Her _student_ , she told herself, not a partner. “There. Like that. Now, if you’d like I’ll put some music on and you can keep practicing.”

He said nothing for a moment, but she refused to look at him as she moved to the stereo.  Whatever his expression, understanding, concern, disappointment, she didn’t want to see it.


	5. Chapter 5

Once again, Diaval was the last one to leave that evening. Usually, Maleficent didn’t think much of it; he took his time, that was all. But this time she had a feeling there was more to it. She rubbed her temples, wondering how he’d take to being thrown out into the rain.

She dismissed the idea, albeit a bit reluctantly. It’d be too much like kicking a puppy, and surely she had other ways to discourage him from asking untoward questions.

As Maleficent had feared, she had still been far too wound up to be particularly productive as an instructor. It was irritating; this was her life, or had been, her passion. Something she loved more than anything - and it was now also the source of all her anger. The thing she couldn’t focus on without feeling bitterness and loss. Colored by ever-present knowledge of an invite on her desk, by watching Diaval stumbling through his lessons with determination and good humor.

As she silently moved to turn off the stereo, he finally spoke. “So-”

She looked at him, keeping her expression impassive. “I’m not in the mood, Diaval. It’s been a bad day.”

“I noticed,” he said, dry. “I’m not going to ask.”

“Oh, weren’t you?”

“Not unless you wanted me to,” he said, managing to sound both agreeable and stubborn. Mal stiefled a groan, returning to her task. 

“Right now, all I want is to go home,” she said shortly. “Don’t you have something else to do?”

Diaval, paused, seeming to consider. “Not particularly. Roommates are probably all out. Usually are.”

“Roommates?”

“Three of them. Disreputable bunch if there ever was one, but we get on well enough.” When she said nothing, unsure why he was telling her, or why she had even _asked_ \- she never took interest in her students’ personal lives - he added, humor creeping back into his voice. “Did you know, male ravens form gangs before they mate? That’s always what our group felt like.”

Maleficent turned to him, eyebrows raised at that absurd comment. “An unkindness,” she said, cooly. “You should form a band.”

He smirked. “You wouldn’t want to hear me sing.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t.”

He laughed, loud and raucous, throwing his head back. Mal felt a bit of earlier tension leave her, even as she realized that had been his goal all along. Diaval, curse the man, caught The smile she vainly tried to fight and grinned in open triumph.

“I’ll go now, get out of your hair." 

Somehow, it sounded like a question.

She almost let him go. She knew she _should_ to let him go. But it truly had been an awful day and she was officially too tired to think through _shoulds_ and _should-nots_. She turned the stereo on again, finding a waltz. Basic, something she knew she could do, even now.  

Maleficent turned to Diaval. He looked at her, an eyebrow raised, but he didn’t ask ’ _what happened to wanting to go home_ ’ as anyone else might, No, Diaval instead murmured, "Practice?”

“If you have something better to do-?” She said, forcing nothing into her voice but cool confidence.

He didn’t bother replying, simply standing, abandoning his umbrella and waiting for her.

It was strange. She had been teaching for the past six years, the waltz being one of the first things new pupils learned. She had assisted partnerless students in their practices of it. It had been the first dance she had relearned in rehabilitation, standing awkwardly on Robin’s toes, angry with the world, with these _legs_ that didn’t _do_ what she wanted them to. She knew the dance better than she knew some of her present student’s names, and still she felt almost nervous. 

The first steps were almost humorously clumsy, both of them trying to lead, and he was holding her wrong - too far away, again. She adjusted his hand on her back, ignored his small, surprisingly shy, smile, and told him, “Be firmer,” while silently telling herself to _let_ him lead.

He had caught on to the waltz fairly quickly when she’d first taught it, and she could feel him growing more confidant. She moved as seamlessly as one could while still having to concentrate on every movement of her legs, as she did. Still, soon enough, they were moving in unison with each other and the music and Maleficent found herself reflecting that this was the best he had danced since she’d taken him on.

“Good,” she said softly, feeling the need to say something, to make sure that this was still what it was; practice for him, a therapeutic exercise for her. He looked at her, his dark eyes sparkling, whether at pleasure from the compliment or the simple joy of their dance she didn’t know. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling back. It really had been too long. She felt like laughing, like _flying_ , like for a moment all her stress was gone. 

The song drew to a close, another track following in it’s wake. Maleficent was almost tempted to simply continue. Still, it was late, and even if her exhaustion was being held at bay for the moment, it was still there. She pulled herself away, and Diaval let her.

When they were both silent - and really, what did one _say_ after that? - he ran his fingers through his hair, seeming to need something to do with his hands now. “I think I’ll let you go home, now.”

She nodded, letting him get all the way to the door. “Diaval?”

He turned, watching her face very carefully. She didn’t want to know what her expression told him. “Yes?”

“This isn’t going to be a regular thing, you know. Don’t let it go to your head.”

His grin returned, “You know, a simple _thank you_ would have worked fine.”

He winked, leaving before she could reply. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Diaval's POV!
> 
> You're going to start seeing his pov more often here on out

Diaval knew he was uncommonly observant, and always had been. It was part of what made him a decent enough photographer - at least enough to make some semblance of a living off of it. It was a silent way to capture what he saw and he liked it.

The silence was the hard part, but he’d learned that there were some things in life that people just didn’t want observed. 

That had been especially hard for him when he was younger; if he saw someone happy he’d want to comment on it, if he saw someone upset he wanted to ask, try to help. This obviously was not always appreciated and so he learned to keep what he observed inside, unless the person looked as though they might be receptive.

“Diaval, take the first step stronger, you’re _leading_ remember?”

Unfortunately, this was becoming increasingly difficult in regards to his dancing instructor, Maleficent.

“Yes, _Ma'am_.”

It became an honest struggle, a silent mantra in the back of his head, _don’t ask don’t ask don’t ask_. Because obviously, she didn’t want to talk about it.

And how would he ask? This wasn’t commenting on a bad day, and she already didn’t like when he did that.  _What_ would he even ask? 

_Hello, I couldn’t help but notice that you have prosthetic legs. Do you want to talk about what happened?_

Yes, he imagined _that_ would end well. 

She wasn’t keeping it secret, per say (although there was a case to be made, judging by the fact that he’d never seen her wear anything that landed above her ankles). She simply never mentioned it. It had taken Diaval until his _fourth_ week of lessons before he had noticed. She was still graceful,  _amazingly_  graceful, confident in every move she made. So perhaps it wasn’t strange that it might be overlooked.

On top of that, he admitted, Maleficent was simply beautiful. So much so that he could be reasonably… distracted. Tall and statuesque, with eyes unlike anything he’d ever seen, a regal quality about her that fit her profession; she managed to inspire obedience without ever being cruel. 

“Don’t call me that.” He wasn’t looking at her but Diaval could hear the smile in her voice, a mix of exasperation and amusement at the title she’d long since told him to quit using. 

Diaval found he loved making her smile, just as much if not more than he loved the lessons themselves. He could even make her laugh, which - judging by the looks on some of the other students’ faces the first time he did so in class - was some feat indeed. 

“As you wish, _madame_ ,” he said, very seriously. He looked behind him, craning his neck to grin at her, “or would you prefer mistress?”

He was able to catch her expression - gratifyingly incredulous - before he accidentally brought his foot down on his partner’s. Tricia pulled back quickly and, unbalanced, Diaval fell flat on his ass. There was laughter, which he breathlessly joined - it was not the first time he’d fallen and the class largely wasn’t cruel.

Maleficent shook her head and came over, taking his hand and helping him back on his feet. He stood and they looked at each other, as close as they’d been when he’d waltzed with her on a whim the week before, when she’d looked _happy_. Now the laughter left her eyes and she dropped his hand, stepping away. A moment later lessons began as though nothing had happened. Diaval bit his tongue.

 _Don’t ask_.  _Do_ _n’t ask don’t ask._

And so he didn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also Surprise! Mal's a double amputee! If you hadn't figured it out yet...


	7. Chapter 7

Maleficent knew the things Diaval wanted to ask and didn’t ask, and was grateful for his silence.

Of course, none of her students had ever asked, and she knew they all knew about it, though she never told anyone outright. They could speculate about circumstances all they wanted, and she assumed they did on their own time, but no one said a word in her earshot.   
If anyone ever asked the response was already in her head. I had legs, now I have these in their place. That’s all that needs to be said. It wasn’t worth making a fuss about, she told herself, and there was nothing to be done about it now. 

But Diaval had a way of making her feel so… unguarded that if he ever did ask, Mal felt she might end up telling him everything.

So luckily, he didn’t ask.

However, the man was growing increasingly bold in other ways. Particularly in the fact that he came earlier, with the excuse of practicing, and stayed later, with no excuse whatsoever. Telling her pointless things about his life - being sure not to pry into hers, she noticed - and making awful jokes that somehow managed to still make her smile. 

“Think how boring closing up would be without my charming company,” he said cheerfully, when she commented on his overstaying.

“Think how productive without your distractions,” she countered. “I get your company for two hours before now, why should I require more?”

He grinned over his shoulder, casually taking the steps of the tango - which he still struggled with - solo. "Ah, but that’s lessons. Now, we can talk.“

"I don’t feel like talking to you,” she said, preparing to turn the stereo off and idly wishing there were a way she could similarly mute the stubborn man. 

“Do you want to dance with me?”

Maleficent turned, startled out of her task. It had been three weeks since she had danced with him after class, and this was the first time he’d brought it up. She had vainly hoped he wouldn’t, that maybe it would mean she could stop thinking about it whenever they were the first or last two in the studio.

He raised an eyebrow and she realized she had been silent too long. “No,” she snapped.

A lie, of course. And, by Diaval’s grin, he knew it.“It would be greatly conducive to my practice.”

“If your roommates are never home, as you continuously tell me, then why do you feel you have to practice here?”

“You overestimate the amount of room I’ve got there." 

She scoffed. "No, Diaval.”

He shrugged, the picture of innocence. “Will you tell me why not?”

“No.”

Here, Diaval went silent. Maleficent could see him mentally checking his boundaries, considering what was safe to say or do with her. She wondered if she shouldn’t have encouraged him this far, let him get this close, only to keep him toeing the line between familiar and stranger. She wondered where she would prefer him.

She wondered if she could simply throw him out, and how it was possible for legs she didn’t have to still itch for movement. It hardly seemed fair. 

With a groan and silent promise to herself that this would be the last time for sure, she came over, ignoring the way his face lit up, and took the place of his invisible partner. 

Like the waltz they’d shared three weeks prior, it began fairly awkward - neither sure of themselves. Unlike the waltz, Diaval was still not the best at it, more than once missing a step or hesitating, obediently responding to her corrections. However, Mal found this helped her more than hindered; the tango was a lot more intimate than a waltz, even when working with an amateur partner, and she had been avoiding that for good reason for some time.

But that wasn’t to say she wasn’t enjoying herself. 

She stepped away the second the song ended, quickly crossing the room to turn the stereo off, trying to ignore the feeling that he was watching her all the while. “You’re getting better,” she said, trying to sound indifferent. Practice, indeed. 

“Oh yes, I’m sure I’ll be winning competitions in no time.”

The words were sarcastic, playful, meant to lighten the conversation, but at the word competition Mal felt her stomach twist and her shoulders tense. She busied herself with getting her things together, thinking perhaps if she said nothing, he’d leave. But the words had already left her. “Is that what you want?” Biting her tongue, she looked back at him.

Diaval blinked, large dark eyes startled. “Compete? Me? Not a chance!” He laughed, more at himself, before seeing her expression. He opened his mouth before catching himself, their boundaries reasserting themselves once more. Shrugging, he gathered his own things. “I think I’ll head home now.” he said gently. “Goodnight, Mal.”

Maleficent wished him the same, before he was gone. She sighed. She was relieved, yes, that he didn’t ask. Still she found herself hoping that someday she’d let him.


	8. Chapter 8

Two more weeks passed.

Aurora’s Junior Blackpool competition came and went. She had placed second overall in her rank - Maleficent had searched the results on her own because, despite everything, she  _had_  to know. She ignored the easing of the dread that she had also ignored. _Won’t her father be proud_ , she thought in disgust, and promptly put it out of her mind. Aurora Royce’s life was no concern of hers. 

Meanwhile, it was alarming how quickly Maleficent broke her promise about not dancing with Diaval again. It was at his request, but he never pressed her. Of course, there was no need to press, as she’d stopped arguing. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought he improved significantly more when dancing with her, and used this knowledge to justify the whole thing. 

They still held each other at arms length - figuratively speaking - but it was comfortable and Mal didn’t feel any reason to change it. If Diaval did, he kept it to himself, as always. 

The friday of that second week, the night Maleficent taught her own juniors class, she was closing down when heard the bell ring by the front door. Remembering this was when Diaval had first shown up, what felt like forever ago, and half expecting to see him again, she smiled to herself and set her things aside to greet whoever it was.

Her smile faded instantly at the sight of Leila Royce.

“Good evening.” While nothing about her posture gave or voice gave her away, Mal could tell she was concerned. She expected she had a right to; for all the well-meaning attempts at correspondence, this was the first time the two women had met. “I’m sorry, I’m sure you’re leaving, I was just in the neighborhood and-" 

"Did you _need_ something?" Maleficent asked, her voice clipped, every inch of her rigid. The woman looked pleasant enough, but she’d never be able to forget who she was married to.

"You weren’t at Aurora’s competition.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You never responded to say so.”

Allowing herself the smallest, bitter, smirk, she said blithely. “Didn’t I? An oversight, I am sorry. Is that all?" 

Leila straightened her shoulders, clearly aware that she was unwanted but not leaving. Brave. "The family of the first place winner is hosting a gala of sorts, next friday. It will be a small celebration, nothing extravagant, of course.”

“Mrs. Royce, then I don’t think I would be… welcome there. If - if your _husband_ thinks-”

She shook her head, quickly. “This isn’t Stefan’s idea, not in the least." Maleficent tried vainly not to cringe at his name, and failed. "I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to offend-”

“Then _why_ are you asking?”

“Aurora wants to meet you.”

_Shit._

“… What?” She asked.

“She found her father’s old tapes, back before you- well, when, when you were partners. He doesn’t talk about it - about you, that is - but she’s surprisingly stubborn.” Leila shook her head, more affection than irritation. “Once she got the story out of him she’s been demanding that she get to meet you, if just once. She says she thinks you’re an inspiration.”

 _Spoiled beast of a child_ , Maleficent thought, clenching her fists. Couldn’t she listen to her parents and take no for an answer? She, who certainly didn’t know anything about what had _really_ happened, who had gotten the most watered down version from her _father_ , was calling her an _inspiration_? Laughable, really. She supposed she could simply continue to refuse her -Too busy, out of town, something came up, anything - but the words stuck in her throat.

She had once been Aurora Royce, a lifetime ago. Perhaps, even if she was nothing more than a cautionary tale about overconfidence and choosing your partners wisely… if it meant she wouldn’t suffer the same… Mal couldn’t begrudge her that. 

Even if it meant seeing Stefan again. 

“I’ll… consider it,” she said finally.

Leila relaxed visibly, and Mal wondered at how intimidating she apparently could be. “Thank you. And feel free to bring anyone, family, your partner - that is, I know you don’t compete nationally anymore but I wasn’t sure if you had found another partner.”

She never realized how valuable Diaval’s ability to _not ask_ was until faced with Leila Royce’s uncomfortable questions. He could teach a thing or two. Thinking absently about how much she would like his cheerful, if not pointless, conversation, the back of her mind thinking more of their dances, and the peace _that_ gave her, she spoke without thinking, “I have.”

The woman lit up, missing the way Maleficent _froze_ at her words.  "Oh that’s lovely.“ She nodded, as if checking this off a mental list of accomplishments - _harass your husband’s ex until she agrees to a celebration for the sake of our child_ \- "Thank you for hearing me out, Maleficent. Really, Aurora will appreciate this so much. I hope to see you and your partner.”

With that she left, leaving Maleficent standing there, a bit stunned.

Well, _fuck._


	9. Chapter 9

At the ungodly hour of 7:00 in the morning - on a Saturday no less - Diaval’s phone rang.

Barely catching it on the last ring, he answered. “Hello?”

“Hello, Diaval. Did I wake you?”

Startled awake by the sound of Maleficent’s voice, he sat up, raking his fingers through his hair. “No, no of course not,” a pause, “Where did you get my number?”

There was a barely audible sigh on the other end. “You listed it under contact information when you signed up for lessons. You really aren’t awake, are you?”

“Not particularly,” he admitted. “Was there something you needed?" 

Maleficent was silent, and Diaval’s not-quite-awake brain finally registered how surreal this was. They had been dancing ( _hah_ ) around the line between a professional distance and a closer friendship for a few weeks, but this was still extremely out of the ordinary.Something was wrong, obviously, but that it was something she’d _call him_ for… he couldn’t imagine what it could be.  

Finally, her voice quiet, she said, "I need a favor.”

Yes, now that he was listening for it, he could tell she was on edge. While he was still unsure why _he_ was the one that she’d reach out to - not to say he was complaining - his first thought was to calm her, help her. “Of course, whatever you need.”

He regretted _that_ almost instantly.

Maleficent laid out the entire situation briskly, emotionless but for the smallest tremor in her voice. She was omitting several very important details, he could tell. What she was saying certainly didn’t account for how tense she sounded upon the mention of Stefan Royce, an ex-partner of hers ( _partner in more than one sense_ was left implied), or explain why his daughter was so important that she would put herself through something she clearly didn’t want to do. 

Or why on earth she had said that _he_ was her partner. 

When he said nothing, not entirely sure what _to_ say, she added, “It’s one evening, a few hours at most. You don’t even have to talk to anyone, really. I Just need-”

“Arm candy?” He suggested dryly.

“Moral support,” she corrected, using the cold tone she adopted when she was hiding her amusement. Diaval grinned.

“Ah, and I’m nothing if not moral.” He teased, allowing himself a bit of time to actually think it over. It was alarming how quickly he was willing to do this for her, despite it being about as far from his scene as you could possibly get. “Is there no one else? What about your one cousin, Robin?”

Maleficent laughed bitterly. “Oh no, Robin and Stefan hate each other. I’m trying to get through this with the least amount of drama possible. And there’s no one else I’d feel comfortable with.”

They both fell silent while Diaval registered that last comment. While it was true that the entire reason he had been coming earlier to classes, and staying after had been to be with her longer, he couldn’t place exactly when he’d become more of her companion than her pupil. He wouldn’t have been sure the change had occurred at all until just then.

“ _Oh_ ,” was the so eloquent reply that he managed.

Thankfully, he heard Maleficent sigh, exasperated and only the littlest bit embarrassed. “Oh, shut up. Now, will you come or won’t you? I’m not going to beg.”

“Really?” Diaval said, dramatic, glad for a chance to lighten the conversation. “Because this was going such an interesting direction - my being the _only person you’re comfortable_ _with_ and all. No ‘I need you, Diaval’?”

“No.”

“'I can’t do this without you, Diaval’?”

“ _No_ ,” but he could hear her smiling on the other end. “You vain man. I knew I should have waited until afternoon to call - you’re far too bold when you’re exhausted.”

“I’m also more willing to agree to things,” he said. 

“Hm. Fair enough,” she paused. “So you will.”

“I will.”

“Thank you.” While he couldn’t see her, Diaval could clearly picture her expression; impassive, only the slightest sign of gratitude in the relaxing of her posture and a light in her eyes.  He might not ever get to know just how important this was, or why, but he knew he was helping her. And for now, he was content with that.


	10. Chapter 10

That monday, after classes, Maleficent realized something as she closed down the studio.

“Diaval?”

“Mm?” He responded, distracted, preparing to leave.

“It’s just occurred to me - what _are_ you going to wear?”

He glanced up from where he crouched, retying his shoe, comically offended. “Are you implying I own nothing formal?”

“Do you?” She asked.

Diaval met her gaze for a few seconds before ducking his head and cursing under his breath. Maleficent’s lips twitched. “So, what are we going to do about that?”

“ _We?_ ” She repeated, raising an eyebrow. He said nothing, looking at his shoes as if they were the most fascinating thing in this world, his hair veiling his flushed face. Mal smirked, “Fine.”

His head snapped up, dark eyes wide. “What?”

“Fine, I’ll help you find something,” she said. “It’s probably better this way; god only knows what _you_ might think is suitable.” She kept her amusement out of her voice as much as possible, but Diaval must have caught the mischief in her eyes because he grinned.

“Certainly wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

“Precisely. Now, are you ready?”

“What - _now_?” He asked, incredulously. 

She nodded. “Yes, now. What - were you expecting to pick me up for dinner beforehand?”

He flushed again, and she almost grinned outright. “You’re an evil woman, did you know that?" 

"Now, Diaval. Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Diaval laughed so hard he lost his balance, falling awkwardly to the side. Maleficent allowed herself a smile, giving a hand and pulling him back to his feet. He beamed down at her - she always forgot that he was taller than her until he was this close. And it certainly wasn’t as if they were never this close to her; for the last several weeks she’d been in his arms for practice. Flustered, and angry at herself for being so, she went to turn off the lights. “Are you ready?” She repeated, moving past him toward the door.

There was a pause before she heard him move to follow her. “Ready as you are.”

* * *

Some time later, he returned her to her apartment. They had managed to find one suitable outfit for him fairly quickly - the man really wasn’t particularly picky - and had spent almost an extra hour just talking. He even managed to cozen her into letting him buy her coffee. 

Not that she was going to admit it, _ever_ , but Maleficent realized she hadn’t been out with anyone as a friend in a very long time, and she had missed it. Diaval was easy to talk to, as always, good at keeping the conversation light, focused on simple, inconsequential things. Never once did he mention the favor he was doing her. Instead, he showed her pictures of photography projects on his phone, told her stories about his roommates, asked her about her favorite things - books, foods, films. 

By the time they’d gotten to her street they had somehow gotten on the topic of dancing, not that she’d been _avoiding_ it or anything.

“Swing dancing, though,” he was saying. “I have always wanted to learn that - I don’t suppose we’ll be getting to that eventually?”

Mal bit her lip to keep from laughing at the image _that_ presented. True, he was a quick study but he’d never tried anything particularly fast paced. “Not at the level you’re at.”

He shrugged, conceding. “But _you_ can, can’t you?”

“I know how to.”

Ever observant, Diaval caught what she didn’t say. “Don’t tell me, have I found the one thing you’re not good at? I didn’t know it existed.”

She rolled her eyes. “My legs don’t particularly like moving that quickly.”

Too late, it hit her that this was the first time she had ever mentioned her legs. Damn the man for making her feel so _comfortable_.There was no doubt that Diaval knew already, but he seemed as surprised as she was at the nonchalant mention.

 There was a brief silence, before he graciously said, “I see,” and changed the subject. “I suppose I’ll let you go then.”

“Yes,” she said softly. Then, feeling the need to say something else, added, “I’ll see you friday.”

He smiled, giving her a small nod. “Right, friday.” He turned, swinging the clothing bag in one hand. “Goodnight, Maleficent.”


	11. Chapter 11

Diaval had never seen Maleficent look so upset. So _openly_ upset,that is. Months of knowing her had made him fairly adept at reading the emotions behind her usually stoic expressions, but he wouldn’t have required any of that skill to see how uncomfortable she looked. He found she went _still_ when stressed - more prone to idle fidgeting when she was comfortable and relaxed - and as they entered, she looked like a statue, barely allowing herself to breathe.

“You know,” he murmured. “We can still go. You made it sound like you had every excuse in the book for these things before.”

She shot him a look, but irritation looked better on her than fear. “Don’t tempt me. I do _not_ need Leila Royce showing up at my door another time." 

That wasn’t why she was doing this, he thought. Sure, he didn’t know the real reason, but he knew enough to know that wasn’t it.

At his silence her scowl deepened, "What.”

“Nothing, _mistress_ ,” he said, summoning his most charming grin. “Shall I take your coat, _mistress_?”

Her lips twitched, she looked ready to laugh and to smack him, and Diaval was immensely pleased with himself. Yes, she looked much more like herself like this. “If you dare call me that in front of anyone here, I will make you miserable.”

“I believe you,” he said, still grinning. “Now, your coat?”

She paused before conceding, shrugging out of a light jacket she had brought. Diaval allowed himself the briefest, appreciative, glance at the dress was wearing beneath it. Soft black fabric falling just short enough to allow for her prosthetics to be clearly visible; it was the first time he had seen Maleficent do so and he imagined she was doing so to make a statement.

He mused over this as he left her. She had told him that this event was largely as much for parents of the young dancers - previous or current competitors themselves - people pressuring and living vicariously through those kids (“Were your parents like that with you?” he had asked. She looked at him and shook her head. “ _Never_.”). He suspected that Stefan was not be the only person who she knew in this crowd. 

Not for the first time, Diaval wondered why he was the one she had chosen to come with her. Still he shook himself out of it. It didn’t matter why, she had and he knew he could never let her go through this - whatever exactly this was - alone. 

“Are you looking for the coat rack?” A female voice spoke behind him. Jolted out of his thoughts, Diaval turned to the speaker, a blonde girl. She couldn’t have been older than nine but she held herself with confidence, looking at him with only a touch of puzzlement. 

“Ah, yes.”

“It’s that way,” she pointed behind her, and proceeded to follow him as he walked. “I don’t know you,” she said cheerfully from behind him. “What’s your name?”

“Diaval,” he answered, trying not to smile as he hung Mal’s jacket up. “And yours?”

Somehow he wasn’t surprised at all when she said, “Aurora Royce.” She cocked her head, studying him. “I thought I knew everyone coming.”

Diaval scanned the room for Maleficent, speaking all the while. “Well, I came on a favor for a friend of mine.” He paused, debating on what to say. At last he added, “A friend I was under the impression you wanted to meet.”

This was _absolutely_ the right thing to say. Aurora’s face lit up like the sun, “Maleficent? _Really_? Mama said she would ask but I didn’t - is she here now?”

He laughed now, unable to help himself. “I certainly hope so, as I came with her.” Finally finding the woman across the room, and catching her eye, he silently jerked his head in a silent beckon. Raising her eyebrows, Maleficent obeyed. “And here she comes now,” he added to the girl.

Aurora was all but bouncing with excitement, but when Maleficent appeared she went still. Staring at the woman in nothing short of _awe_. Mal, for her part, gave Diaval a look that screamed ‘couldn’t you have given me a bit more warning!?’, he shrugged sheepishly. 

“Hello, Aurora. I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said at last. While her voice was steady, Diaval was surprised by the warmth in the undertone of her words. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to meet you.”

The girl’s blue eyes were wide as saucers but her smile held. “I - Thank you. You’re the best dancer I’ve ever seen, _ever_. And I’ve seen a lot,” she said with all the authority a nine-year-old could manage. With no subtly, no fear of offense or wrath Aurora glanced at Maleficent’s legs and added. “I’m always scared, you know, that I’ll break my leg and never be able to dance again. How awful that would be. But you can.”

Mal looked startled, but her expression softened. Diaval tried not to stare, aware this was the gentlest he had ever seen her and as enthralled by it as the girl. “I can assure you I’m not as good as I was before, but yes. I still dance. If you love something enough you’ll find it’s hard to let anything stop you. Even the impossible.”

Aurora nodded, seeming incapable of doing anything but beam at her, and Maleficent, amazingly, smiled back. For a moment there, he actually thought perhaps all her worries might be for nothing. 

“Aurora?” A man asked from behind them, causing Diaval to turn. He barely registered the newcomer - tall, dark haired, unremarkable looking really - but for the way Maleficent positively _froze_ beside him, refusing to turn, so affected just by the sound of his voice. Diaval felt a feeling of unease as he realized who this man was.

“Papa,” Aurora said, still delighted. “Look, who’s come!”


	12. Chapter 12

Aurora bounded over to her father’s side, and Maleficent was forced to turn. Catching her expression as she did so, Diaval understood why he had been asked to come as _moral support_. The unguarded look in her eyes, equal parts anger and fear, was gone a second later, and she faced Stefan Royce, looking entirely serene. 

Stefan, on the other hand, was worse at hiding his emotions. He stood ridged, watching Maleficent warily, as though he expected her to murder him where he stood. 

For her part, Aurora did not appear unaware of the tension, looking from Mal to Stefan, and then to Diaval as if hoping he could explain this. He almost laughed; of the four people this conversation now consisted of, he knew the least. 

“Papa,” she tried at last. “she came. She _really_ came!”

“So I see,” Stefan said, eyes still on Maleficent. The shock wearing off, he smiled at her, a kind of smugness in it that Diaval didn’t like, liking it even less when Mal tensed beside him. 

Frustrated by her father’s apparent lack of interest, Aurora tried again. “Isn’t it exciting? I never thought we’d meet,” she added with a small smile at the woman, far sweeter and more genuine than Stefan’s, “I’ve wanted to-”

“Aurora,” Stefan interrupted. While his voice was mild, Aurora stopped talking immediately. “Why don’t you go find Phillip. Weren’t you talking to him before you got distracted?”

“But, papa, I just -”

“ _Now_ , Aurora.”

The girl took another look at the adults - Diaval sent her an apologetic smile. Obviously hurt, she retreated. 

“I must say, I don’t know why I was _invited_ if you intended to keep her from me either way,” Maleficent said. The first thing she had said since the man had appeared. Her manner was beyond cold, it was glacial.

Unperturbed, Stefan spoke casually. “I can’t say I honestly _expected_ you to show up. You’d made such a habit of slighting requests in the past.”

“So _glad_ to hear I was missed,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Your wife made a very compelling case; I actually felt wanted. How awkward." While nothing in her face or voice gave it away, Diaval could feel her shaking with anger and wondered how rational Stefan’s fear of impending murder really was. He touched her wrist in silent support and, to his surprise, she took his hand. 

Catching the movement, Stefan looked at Diaval as though seeing him for the first time. Slowly, the smug grin returned to his face. "Ah. Leila did say you had found a partner. Stefan Royce. I suspect she’s told you about me.” He extended a hand.

“Diaval Lynch.” he returned the greeting but didn’t move, watching, pleased, as Stefan’s hand fell back to his side.  "And no, I can’t say she has, not in detail in any case. Never thought it was particularly important, I suppose.“ 

Stefan’s face hardened a fraction, before he addressed Mal once again. "I’m surprised. While I’m sure he’s a match for the level you’re on now,” Diaval tensed at the blatant insult to them both while the man went on, “Last we spoke, I believe you made it clear you had no intention of returning to this life." 

Maleficent flinched, truly _flinched_ , her hand tightening around his almost painfully. Finally she said, "A notion I recall you encouraging.” Her voice quiet and fierce, her eyes sparkling with anger. “I hope you’ve gained a higher tolerance for failure, Royce, for Aurora’s sake.”

Here, at last, Stefan’s affable mask slipped, stepping back as if punched. Whatever blow he had dealt her she had returned it twice over. Mal squeezed his hand once again, and while they’d worked nothing out beforehand, Diaval knew instinctively what she was conveying to him; ’ _We need to leave. I need to leave_.’

He couldn’t remember what he said to Stefan, if anything, and left before the man could say anything in return. He ushered her out, and left her briefly to grab her coat, vainly searching for Aurora all the while. The girl was nowhere in sight, unfortunately, and at the moment was not the priority. Let her father tell her what happened, he thought, disgusted. 

Maleficent sat on the steps leading to the entrance, having apparently recovered from the beginnings of a panic attack. She sat, rubbing her prosthetic legs and staring straight ahead, unfocused. She didn’t jump when he came up beside her and she took her jacket with the smallest nod, expressionless.

Biting his tongue, Diaval helped her to her feet and took her home.

* * *

On an unspoken mutual agreement, he followed her inside when they reached her apartment. He caught the smallest twitch of a smile on her face when he stared at the surroundings.

“Not what you expected?" 

It wasn’t. He wasn’t sure what he _was_ expecting, but the interior of her apartment was not it. The room was a dark mossy green, potted plants decorated open spaces, paintings of forests and flowers hung from walls and a large oak bookshelf sat stuffed against one wall. All of it felt very warm and earthy. 

"I _am_ beginning to see how you’re the child of people named Hermia and Lysander,” he said, his voice soft. 

Maleficent shook her head, sinking into a large chair. They were silent for a good minute before she said, “Diaval.”

“Yes?”

She looked at him, and for all his skill at reading her, for once he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “You can go now.”

Diaval took in the way she was trembling - so slightly he wasn’t sure she even knew she was - and said, "If you don’t mind, I’ll stay.“ 

She shook her head again. "You don’t know - you have no idea what happened, how much I _hate_ that man. No idea.”

He didn’t. How could he, when she gave him nothing to go off of, but he did’t need to, not right then. She’d asked him to help her, and he was going to do that. Stubbornly, he took a seat. Maleficent watched him for a moment, and then got to her feet with a soft, exasperated sigh.  

“I’ll make us some coffee, then.”


	13. Chapter 13

Monday’s class felt awkward.

Diaval showed up on time, only a minute or so before any other students. Nothing in his face gave away any change but for the _warmth_ in the small smile he gave her.

“Good evening,” he said. Maleficent continued getting ready for the class with only a nod of acknowledgement and tried not to think of the last time she’d seen that smile - the last time she’d seen him.

He had stayed at her apartment for a few hours that night, making conversation so obviously leagues away from what was on their minds that it seemed almost ridiculous. Eventually, however, exhaustion slowly set in. When he had yawned, vainly attempting to hide it, she told him again that he could leave, and this time he agreed.

“How are you?” He added, when she made no move to continue conversation.

She went still. “ _Fine,_ ” she said, sharply. 

Diaval looked at her, startled, and then sighed. “I didn’t mean- Mal, I won’t talk about it if you don’t want me to. You know that.” He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated.

She did know that. Diaval had been beside her when she had faced the man she hated more than anything on this earth, and never once asked about their history. He _always_ knew what to say and what not to. He was a comfort, and Maleficent was not  _used_  to needing, or even wanting, someone’s presence to comfort her. It was not a particularly pleasant feeling.

But she couldn’t tell him any of that, even if she had wanted to - because more students were coming in and she had to begin the class.

While Diaval had gradually become something more of a companion for weeks now, this was the first time it felt truly _strange_ to be his instructor again. Annoyed at his struggling through lessons with a partner clearly beneath him at this point, more so as he managed to keep the same attitude he always showed when she corrected him, for all the world like he hadn’t seen her since the week before, Mal was in a thoroughly bad mood before the class was even half over. 

“Tricia, you’re rushing, again. Two slow steps, and _then_ two quick ones - there’s not enough contrast.” Without thinking, she beckoned the woman’s partner. “Let me show you - Diaval, here.”

Diaval let Tricia go, pushing damp hair out of his eyes, and stayed where he was. She raised an eyebrow and he raised one of his own. “I’m not a dog,” he said at last.

With a tired sigh, Maleficent corrected. “Diaval, will you help me demonstrate this?”

He grinned and acquiesced. “Yes, mistress,” he murmured, for her ears alone. She smacked his arm and he laughed, adjusting his hold on her. Mal couldn’t remember when they’d become so _comfortable_ dancing together that she no longer had to correct the way he held her, that he knew how they fit together as well as any partner would. 

Dismissing the thought, she spoke the counts aloud as they repeated the steps with ease - increasingly aware of the rest of the class watching them. Twice they went through it, before Maleficent released him, let him return to the class.

Diaval waited after class, as he always did. _Practice_ , she thought sarcastically. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she told him, flatly, as she adjusted the stereo, finding a song for them. 

“I didn’t think you would. I hoped that meant we could still  _talk_ , though.”

She shook her head, taking her place in his arms. “You don’t usually require this much conversation,” she said quietly, willing some dry humor into her voice.

While his smile was tentative, the look in his eyes uncertain, he held her confidently as ever; here, at least, they knew where they stood. There had been a touch of hurt in his words, all the same.

“Diaval,” she added.

“Mm?”

“You know I am… grateful, don’t you?.”

“Grateful? Whatever for - I thought we weren’t talking about that,” he teased. She glared at him until he smiled down at her, dark eyes lit with happiness. “I do know,” he added. “Still, it’s nice to hear _some_ appreciation.”

Maleficent rolled her eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

She felt his laugh more than heard it. “Never." 


	14. Chapter 14

The unfortunate side of not having had a panic attack for years was that Maleficent had quite forgotten how to deal with them. Forgotten that, while they were over quickly enough, the after-effects remained long after.

For a week she walked on eggshells, uneasy, expecting to see Stefan everywhere she went. The studio itself was the worst, given that that was where they had spent most of their time, a lifetime ago. She couldn’t come in without picturing him there, waiting for her. Not the Stefan at that gala, not his smug face and painful words, but the Stefan she had loved. The one who smiled at her like she was something magic, who would hold her in his arms and call her perfect. 

Of course, she _had_ been perfect, then.

Maleficent hated that after years of growing accustomed to her new legs, she now caught herself missing feelings she used to have, and would never have again. Standing on her tip-toes to kiss her uncle on the cheek. Quicksteps and swing dances with legs that responded correctly. The way her toes curled when Stefan kissed her, and never would should Diaval ever do the same.

Not that he _would_. 

She pushed those thoughts - all of them - back to the remote corner of her mind, where they belonged, trying to continue with her day in some semblance of peace - _furious_ that seeing Stefan Royce once, after ten years, was enough to shake her this way.

She was putting away groceries on a Saturday the week after the gala, mulling all this over, when her phone rang. While it wasn’t saved, she recognized the number.

“Did you save my phone number?” She asked Diaval, dryly.

“Hello to you, too,” he said. “And yes, I did. I didn’t know when you might call me at unreasonable hours again, after all.”

“Last I was aware, seven in the morning was perfectly reasonable.”

“For you, maybe, but that’s not the point.” he was speaking quickly. Excited. And she couldn’t help herself, she was curious.

She sighed. “Alright, I’ll bite. Why have you called?”

There was a pause, the sound of a phone exchanging hands and then, inexplicably, Aurora Royce’s voice. “Hello.”

Maleficent dropped the bag of grapes she had been carrying to her counter, and barely was able to keep from dropping her phone.  "Aurora? Where are you?“ Where were her parents, more importantly and why was she with _Diaval_ of all people? God, the last she needed was Stefan’s daughter to be sneaking out trying to talk with her again.

"I’m at the park,” she said, obligingly. “With my nanny,” she added, as if catching her silent fears about her parents. “but we saw Diaval and I wanted to talk to him again.”

 _And call me, apparently_ , she thought, shaken. Unless… “And was it _his_ idea to call me?” She had half a mind to strangle that man the next time he was in arms reach.

“No, it was mine. Well, both of ours. I had a question and he thought I should to ask you.”

“Oh?”

“I want be you to be my dance teacher.”

It was a very good thing she was no longer holding anything, for certainly it would be dropped again. Maleficent stood frozen, completely shocked, for a good second.

Taking a very, very shaky breath, she said, as strongly as she could manage. “Why, Aurora, I assume you already have a teacher, and a studio, and from the looks of your accomplishments hardly need _me_ to teach you anything at all.”

“I don’t like my studio. Papa says it’s the best, but I’m not _happy_ there. I’d be happy if you were teaching me,” she said, earnestly. “Please, I heard mama say you teach my age group, so I know you can.”

“Do your parents know of this plan?”

There was a pause, and Mal could picture the child’s pout as clearly as if she stood before her. She knew the answer. “I mentioned it to papa earlier, but he didn’t like it. He said up- uprooting me from where I was wouldn’t be good. I told him I think it’s because he doesn’t like you. He said you wouldn’t be a strict enough teacher, something about you not wanting it enough-”

Aurora kept talking but Maleficent suddenly could hear nothing over the ringing in her ears at those words, an echo from fights long over, the image of Stefan yelling the same words at her, how if she had _wanted_ this enough, how everything that had happened was somehow _her_ fault. She sat quickly, shaking hard, as though the prosthetics couldn’t hold her any longer. 

“Maleficent?” Diaval’s voice had returned. Aurora must have returned the phone to him when it was clear she wasn’t responding.

It wasn’t _fair_ , she thought, squeezing her eyes shut and focusing on breathing. She’d been almost five years without a panic attack and now _twice_ in less than two weeks time. 

“Maleficent? Maleficent, are all right?”

His voice, quiet and gentle, broke through to her. “I- I’m okay." 

"No, you’re not,” he said. “I’m sorry. Look, are you home?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll come over.”

“Diaval,” she said, her voice shaking too much to sound firm. 

He cut her off easily. “Don’t tell me you’d rather be alone, Mal, I know how these work. You don’t want to be alone.”

She sighed, but didn’t protest. “Tell Aurora…” she trailed off. Tell Aurora what? How could she possibly explain everything that had happened between her and the girl’s father. 

“I’ll tell her that you’ll talk to her later,” Diaval suggested, graciously. 

“Yes. Thank you." 

He hung up shortly after, a promise that he’d be there as soon as he could. Mal put her head on her table, breathed, and waited.


	15. Chapter 15

“You know, if I’m not careful you’re going to start thinking you’re important.”

Diaval smiled at Maleficent’s sarcastic greeting words, stepping past her into her apartment. She looked a little shaken, and stood a little too straight, a little too still, but her voice was steady.

“Oh, it’s far too late for that,” he told her, gravely, thankful for any chance to amuse her. “Although, I’m still waiting to hear ’ _I need you, Diaval_ ’.”

“You have a very long wait,” she replied. He laughed. “Just sit, will you. Do you want something to drink?”

He settled again into a chair in her living room, still in awe of the cozy decor. “No, I’m fine.” Belatedly he added. “I am sorry.”

“What on earth for?”

Diaval ran his hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have had her talk to you. I should have realized after… everything- before…" 

Maleficent shook her head, taking her own seat, something good-smelling steaming from the mug in her hands. She gave him a stern look. "Diaval, there’s no way you’d have known she might say something to trigger me. _I_ didn’t know, so why should you have?”

“I still should have thought before-” Now she outright glared at him, clearly not appreciating the sentiment. He cut himself off, but not before adding, “I’m sorry,” once more. 

She sighed, her expression softening if only the slightest bit. “You’re forgiven.”

They were silent together, as he tried to think of what else he could say. He’d known where he stood, in regards to their relationship, before the gala. They’d crossed some threshold after that, but with her refusal to talk about it he found himself a bit lost as to what he could and could not say, where this new line should be drawn. 

“Are you going to take Aurora on, then?”

She stilled, and he mentally kicked himself for speaking before he thought. Had he not started this conversation by berating himself for having should have realized that Aurora _wasn’t_ a safe topic? Had they not _just_ been through this?

“Her father said no,” she said. “And I’m not about to have another confrontation with Stefan Royce for something that small.”

It wasn’t small, he could hear it in the way she said the word, in the fact that she’d already faced the man once just to _see_ Aurora. But Diaval bit his tongue before he said anything else rash. He was supposed to be helping, not re-ripping at her old wounds. _  
_

She was watching him carefully, and he had the unpleasant feeling she knew what he was thinking. Breaking their eye contact for a moment, she took a long drink from the contents of her mug. Another sigh and then she spoke, with no preamble. “It was a car accident.”

Diaval stared at her, dumbly, unsure what she was talking about until one trembling hand moved to brush her knee, where prosthetic met skin.  _Oh_. 

Seeing that he had caught on, Maleficent nodded a fraction and continued, her voice quiet. “I was in a car wreck, I’d been the one driving when it lost control. And yet, that doesn’t trigger me. I can drive, I can be in a car and not blink an eye. But talking to - or even about - one man I hadn’t seen in ten years-” she stopped, taking a deep breath. “It’s completely irrational." 

He watched her carefully, debating how to respond to that. This was more than she had told anyone, he could tell, but at the same time all it gave him were more questions that he wanted to ask, more questions that he _couldn’t_ ask.

"I have a phobia of dogs,” he said at last.

He almost laughed at the completely baffled look on her face. “ _What_.”

“Dogs. I’m terrified of them - have been my whole life.” He shrugged. “Weirdest part is I can’t remember ever having a bad experience with one, nothing traumatic. It’s just… there.  _That’s_  irrational. Whatever you’ve got, whatever happened with you and Royce that caused it, that’s not.”

Maleficent set her mug down, idly playing with a ring instead. The smallest of signals that she was relaxing, that what he’d said, his pointless story, calmed her. “Was always more of a cat person, myself,” was all she said.

Diaval smiled, pleased. “Knew I liked you for a reason.”

She looked at him, and smiled back. It was a small barely a twitch of her lips and a softness in her eyes but it lit her face. She’d smiled at him, in all his charm and bad jokes, before, but something about the setting, about the conversation, made this feel a great deal more intimate.  Hilarious; he had her in his arms once a week, her body pressed against his, and it was only _here_ that Diaval found he could barely breathe.

Maleficent stood, effectively breaking the moment and allowing him a chance to collect his thoughts and his wits. She took her mug, moving to the kitchen with that amazing grace of hers. “I need to make dinner,” she said, over her shoulder.

Awkwardly, Diaval stood as well. Fair enough. He had done what he had come to do, calm her down, make her smile, give her something else to do other than sit alone with her thoughts and anxieties. He couldn’t expect to be kept around anymore than he was needed. “Right.”

She turned, seeing him standing and quirked one eyebrow up. “How do you feel about shrimp?" 

It took him a moment to realize what she had said and what it meant, and nearly had to sit again to keep from falling over. "I’ll love anything _you_ make I’m sure,” he told her, a grin almost splitting his face.

She rolled her eyes and returned to preparing, but not before Diaval caught her smiling.


	16. Chapter 16

Somewhere over dinner, Maleficent came to a decision.

Perhaps it was because it had been so long since she had allowed anyone this close. Perhaps because through good and bad days he remained a companion, never once faltering. Perhaps because within the space of a week he had proved himself to be one of the most selfless and loyal people she had ever known, had come when she asked - when she  _hadn’t_  asked. Perhaps, oh- perhaps she was just tired of the silence.

Oblivious to her internal struggle, Diaval was talking about Aurora; apparently the girl was none the worse for being denied a conversation with her idol yet again. “She might think there’s a controversy," he said. "but she’s not upset with you, certainly. I think she understands.”

 _She understands more than I do_ , was left implied. 

But he’d come, anyways.

“Good kid,” she murmured.

“Good kid, indeed.”

Yes, she owed him this.

Taking her finished plate to her sink, she spoke, for the world like she was discussing the weather, their dinner, something else trivial. “I was probably around her age when I met Stefan, you know.”

She heard shifting behind her and could imagine Diaval going still, staring at her back in complete shock. The image was almost amusing. He said nothing however, no ’ _Mal, you don’t have to tell me this_ ’. Because, as always, he knew that wasn’t what she needed to hear. All he said, feigning polite interest, was, “Really?”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “He’d been shoplifting nearby, actually, and decided to take cover in the first open shop he found - our studio. My uncle Balthazar and aunt Selene had taken it over, as well as parental care for me, after my parents died. When they asked why he’d come, he looked around, saw me, and said he wanted to learn to dance.

"And, regardless of it being an excuse, he stuck around. Began to be partnered up with me for practices - being the two youngest." Maleficent sighed, rubbing her temple with one hand, her back to Diaval still. "We were good, together. Really good. We were in our first minor juvenal ranking competition when were twelve, and placed third. We came in first in another the same year.

"And winning was,” Mal groped for a word, “ _addicting_. I loved following in my parent’s footsteps, doing what I loved. Stefan liked having something he was good at, I think. He was a foster kid, he told me, didn’t feel he had anything that was  _his_ , and he wanted that. 

"After a few years of partnering with him, our friendship inevitably became something else, as I’m sure you worked out.”

It took all her willpower to turn at last. Diaval was watching her, sober, aware this story did not posses a happy ending. He nodded. While it would have been great to turn her back to him again, so much easier to tell this story to her sink, her legs were aching, trembling as if she had forgotten how to stand on them. She returned to her seat.

“But,” she continued with an attempt at a shrug. “As we got older, as we got better, Stefan got more arrogant, more ambitious. We pushed each other harder. Competitions became more stressful, especially as I learned that he had a temper, a strong one, roused when we did poorly, as we occasionally did. It didn’t matter who he was angry with, _I_ was always the one who he unleashed it on. 

"He didn’t hit me,” she added, quickly, seeing the way Diaval had tensed. Bitterly, she shook her head. “No, it was never physical, but it didn’t need to be for it to stick with me. But when we did well, he was so _happy_ , did nothing but praise me, praise us, so I tried not to think much of it. 

"Then, when I was twenty, I fell during a competition. Blackpool, actually. The first year we’d gone since we were old enough to compete in the adult rank. And I fell, early on, and we were disqualified. 

"Stefan was furious, _livid_ , the entire trip back. I was driving, trying to calm him down, as I always did. But he wasn’t listening, and soon enough we were shouting at each other, and I… wasn’t focusing on the car.”

Maleficent squeezed her eyes shut, her hands clenching into fists. She felt Diaval touch her hand and looked at him, a hundred emotions in his eyes. “Mal,” he began.

She shook her head, cutting him off. “The rest I don’t remember, not really. I only have what was told to me to go on. Stefan had been able to stay conscious, and proceeded to pull me out from the wreckage. That’s the worst of it, sometimes, that, in the end, he did save my life.” She paused, taking a shaky breath.

“When I woke up, truly woke up, I’d already been amputated. There was nothing else they could have done, they told me, and it was a lucky thing I was alive. I certainly didn’t appreciate the sentiment.

"I lost some time in there. For a few days, I think I just lay there wondering if I had died, _hoping_ I might die, because surely death would be better than this, than the thought that I might never walk, never dance again.

"But I lived, all the same,  and began rehabilitation some weeks later, working with prosthetic legs that I despised. Robin, my aunt and my uncle were the only people I let see me during that time. I didn’t want to talk to anyone else, other dancers, press any of that. Nothing to remind me of the life I was closed off from now.

"Stefan came by a few months into my rehabilitation. The first time he visited since the accident. At first he was genuinely sorry for what had happened, but it became clear that he was taking no responsibility for it, himself. When I pushed the issue and he began to get angry, when tried to turn this into what _he_ was going to now that I wasn’t… capable anymore, I snapped. I told him to leave, and not to come back. That I was through with this, with him.

"And he did. And that was that last we’d spoken to one another, until.”

“Until last week,” Diaval finished, softly. Somewhere in there she had let him take her hand, and was suddenly aware of how tight she was gripping it.

Mal nodded. Her voice was hoarse. It was as she had once speculated; she could give the tale in five sentences if need be, but for him she found herself telling more than she had said to anyone, ever. 

“So that’s why I can’t talk to him without reliving our argument before that crash, why just thinking about him too long and I’m back in a hospital room having woken up with my entire life turned on its head. They’re not pleasant emotions, you understand.”

He nodded. “Mal,” he said again, his own voice hoarse from something else entirely. “Why did you…?”

There were a hundred answers to that. She told him because she’d dragged him into this part of her life, and he’d come, because for the first time in ten years she thought she might trust someone. “Because you didn’t ask.”


	17. Chapter 17

Diaval didn’t remember exactly what he said to Maleficent before leaving, shortly after. It had been abundantly clear after her story finished that she wanted to be alone. She’d gotten the worst out, and needed time to herself - and he was glad to give it to her, despite feeling spectacularly useless in his inability to contribute much more than saying her name. 

Of course, he’d known exactly what _not_ to say. He never asked her if she was alright, because she obviously wasn’t. He didn’t tell her he was sorry, because that wasn’t why she told him, and she didn’t need that pity. He didn’t tell her he was there for her, because she knew that already.

Surely, she knew that already.

But he didn’t have the slightest idea what he _should_ say to her.  He still didn’t know. _Something._ surely; for all that Maleficent seemed content with silence more often than not, Diaval was not, more fond of idle conversation to diffuse a stressful situation. But this wasn’t just her having an off day, something a change of topic and some bad jokes could take her mind away from. 

He had expected whatever had happened with Royce to be painful, he had expected whatever had happened to her legs to be painful. But he had never expected what she told him. So many conversations, things said and unsaid in them, were clear and he was useless in face of what had happened to her. There were few things Diaval hated more than being useless. 

Admittedly, he was not at his best that following Monday. Usually he had no problem keeping their personal relations separate until they were alone, but he found himself returning to that night, to the distant look on her face, focused on nothing but what she was reliving. It felt so inane, ridiculous to play student with this woman who had become so much more.

Worse was that Maleficent seemed wholly unruffled, her usual brisk and no-nonsense self. So good was her stoic expression and so surreal was the experience that Diaval was almost tempted to believe he’d dreamt it. 

The only sign she gave, if one could call it that, that anything had happened, was the fact that she was all but ignoring him all class. Part of it could be chalked up to his improvement, that she didn’t need to focus on him, but usually there was something, _anything_. Mal was nothing if not a perfectionist.

Ironic, that, in a heartbreaking sort of way.

She was still quiet when everyone left, and Diaval could see an added tension in her once they were alone. That hurt. He tried to think of something to say to make her smile and for once could come up with nothing. He wanted to be able to just _talk_ to her, ask her any of the questions that he still had, wanted her to trust him, like she had that night.

“So, what are you going to do about Aurora, then?” He asked at last. Aurora wasn’t exactly _safe_ , but it was a better topic than nothing.

Maleficent was getting her own things - apparently not in the mood for dancing with him that night, which only worsened his mood. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, about taking her as your student.”

She looked at him, green eyes flashing, and Diaval nearly took a step back. “I recall saying I wasn’t doing anything about that, and have no intention to. It’s not important.”

Now it was Diaval’s turn to stare at her, shocked. She’d given him that lie, and several variations of it, before; Aurora Royce was no concern of hers. He felt, somewhat irrationally, frustrated that it was being used once again, now that he actually knew. That she was _really_ going to pretend nothing had happened, nothing had changed.

“Really? You’re still going with that?”

“I have no notion what you’re talking about.” Yes, it appeared her brief moment of trust was over. 

“Really?” He repeated, truly irritated now. “You went to that gala just to see her, and I’m still supposed to believe she’s nothing to you?”

“She’s Stefan’s kid, for all I know she’s going to turn out just like him and I’m _not_ going to deal with that.”

“Oh, is _that_ what you’re worried about? Or are you afraid that Stefan might treat her the way he treated you?”

The words left him before he could stop them, his usual tact overwhelmed by frustration and hurt. Maleficent flinched. “That’s not it at all,” she said.

The very, very blatant lie only upset him further. “She idolizes you, she deserves having someone like you in her life and you see yourself in her, don’t tell me you don’t, Maleficent. You can’t have told me everything and expect me to buy that you don’t.”

“I didn’t tell you so you could use it against me,” she said, voice as cold and hard as it had been when she had confronted Royce.

“No,” he agreed, hotly. “You told me because you _trusted_ me, or you did two nights ago, but now you can’t even talk straight to me? Mal, I know what- whatever it is we’ve got is strange but I-  I can’t just go from being someone you trust and- and care about and then pretend nothing’s happened without it affecting me.”

It was as if he’d opened a floodgate; Diaval hadn’t even realized how much he’d been holding back until that moment, how much he didn’t say because he hadn’t wanted to hurt her further, how much it hurt _him_ to go on acting normal for her benefit. How much he’d needed to tell her this.

Quietly, avoiding her eyes now, he added. “And I’ll do it, I’ll be whatever you need me to be, you know I will. I know this is hard, I just-” he ran his fingers through his hair, “I don’t know.”

Maleficent was silent and Diaval knew somewhere there he’d crossed that undefinable line they’d set up between them, knew he’d went and jeopardized what they did have, what trust she _had_ given him. Looking at her once again he nearly flinched at the cold, distant expression. Completely frozen save the pain and anger flashing in her green eyes.

“Diaval,” she began, but he didn’t want to hear what she was going to say. He didn’t want to argue with her, he didn’t want her to apologize, because he didn’t have the least idea of what to say to her now. 

He shook his head. “Look, I shouldn’t have- I’ll go now. I’ll go.”

Maleficent didn’t stop him. 


	18. Chapter 18

“Listen, Mal, I’m sorry about last night. I- I shouldn’t have said any of that. I know you trust me, and I’m the one who messed that up. I’m really- I’m sorry.”

Diaval groaned, listening to the playback of his voice on his phone. When the operator’s voice intoned ’ _to delete message press 2 now_ ’ he did so immediately. Erasing the stupid apology before Maleficent could ever receive it.

That had been the _fourth_ attempt. 

He shouldn’t have called her at all, really, but there was no helping that now - and now he’d spent the last ten minutes attempting to leave a message for her. He couldn’t imagine what would have happened if she had actually answered. Nothing good, probably. He felt like shit. He hadn’t asked for any of this, for losing control of his tongue, for screwing things up, for having feelings for her, period.

God, he’d fallen in love with his dance instructor. Could his life have _been_ more cliche? 

And it wasn’t that he thought she was somehow damaged, emotionally - god, he hoped she didn’t think that he did -, he didn’t want to _fix_ anything about her. She was the strongest person he’d ever known, she really was, and had been that way long before she’d met him. 

There were just sometimes when he _hoped_ …

The tone came again. He took a deep breath.

“Hey, Maleficent. I just wanted to call and apologize for- for what I said on Monday. I’m sure you’d rather I didn’t mention it - hell, for all I know you’re over it and I’m just making things worse again. But, I need you to know I’m sorry. I’m used to- I’m usually better at this. I mean, you know that; I’ve known you nearly four months and I never asked as much as I wanted to. And believe me, I wanted to.

I am- I _was_ used to knowing where I stand with you. I was okay with waiting for you to come around, I was resigned with the fact that maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe we’d always be… whatever we were. Friends, I suppose. I considered you a friend, at least. I still do. 

I guess, after everything that happened, I hoped for more.” Diaval cleared his throat, aware of how utterly miserable he sounded. “But that’s not- none of that’s _your_ fault and I don’t want you to think I blame you, ever, for taking your time. You do trust me, Mal, or did, and I know that has to be hard. So. I’m just- really sorry.”

Diaval listened to the message relayed back to him. Listened to his already rough voice especially hoarse with more emotion than he could possibly say, and imagined the way Maleficent might react to hearing it.

He deleted the message, and closed his phone. 

* * *

 

Maleficent was angry with the entire universe, and it was not a good mood to be in when attempting to make important phone calls.

She hadn’t slept well the night before, which did nothing to help her mood. Her conversation with Diaval that night was too fresh in her mind, too much after the events of the past two weeks. And as it turned out, as she certainly should have already known, people who know exactly what to say to make you happy also knew exactly what to say to hurt you.

He was completely right, of course. Aurora Royce was everything Maleficent had been years ago; talented, cheerful, positively in love with the sport. A bright future laid out in front of her. The first time Mal heard, entirely by accident, that Stefan even had a child, and that girl was competing, she had been completely terrified.

She still was, if she was honest. 

It was why, for all the she would have quite liked to never hear the name Royce again, she could not distance herself from Aurora, why she _had_ to look up her competition scores, or meet her at her request. She needed to know that this girl was still okay - that Stefan wasn’t putting her on the path he had put Mal on.

And Diaval was right, damn him, she _did_ want to take Aurora as her student, she did want to watch over her, encourage her, let her know that she could fall sometimes, because god knew her father wasn’t going to.

Still, who was _Diaval_ to make her feel guilty about this? She’d told him, _just_ told him, how much anything remotely related to Stefan Royce affected her. Who was he to make this  _about him_ , about whatever they were -  _I’ll be whatever you need_ , indeed -, when this was already so much.

Glaring at the list of phone numbers before her, still not sure she was really doing this, Mal realized she had missed her phone’s alert and had missed a call. Diaval. 

There was a second before Maleficent let herself breathe again. Clicking through, she looked to see if he had left a message, any inkling to what he’d called about.

There was nothing. 

She looked at his number a long time. She should call back, she wanted to call back, tell him that he was right, tell him she wished she could get back to where they had been. That she wasn’t used to this, and sometimes it scared her how well he knew her. And none of it, none of it was his fault.

She shook herself out of it, clearing the call from her phone. She had other things to focus on, and Diaval, for all that she loved him, was not her first priority. 


	19. Chapter 19

The week that followed was one of the longest in Mal’s life.

She told herself a hundred reasons why she was waiting until their next class to talk to Diaval, but truthfully she simply didn’t know how to say what she wanted to unless she was absolutely _forced_ to face him.

And perhaps she just wanted to see if he’d come back.

She kept herself busy by preparing for the imminent changes in her studio, calling her cousin Robin and telling him about the events of the past few weeks, and no small amount of checking her phone. She told herself she would _not_ pick up if he did call, and that she was glad when he did not.

In the end she didn't  _exactly_  succeed. Her phone rang about an hour before monday’s class would begin and against all better judgement she answered.

He was silent at first, and Maleficent was somewhat amused at that; he clearly had not expected her to answer, and was clearly not entirely sure what to say. After a couple stumbling words she simply informed him she was already at the studio and perhaps it would be easier to talk face to face. He agreed.

“Hello, Diaval,” she said, not long after, as he let himself in. "You look terrible.“

Diaval gave her a crooked smile, pushing somewhat disheveled looking hair out of his face. "You say the sweetest things, mistress.”

“I’m serious, you look like you haven’t slept since I saw you last. I would have checked in sooner if I knew it’d affect you so very bad.”

She had meant the words as a joke, an attempt to keep the atmosphere casual, but it was met with silence, his easy smile evaporating. Mal sighed internally. There was no reason to extend this any longer than she needed to. “Diaval, I’m sorry-”

He stiffened, “No, Mal, don’t-”

She gave him a cool look and he subsided. Feeling a bit pleased with herself, she continued. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. You have to understand, this week has been a bit hectic for me. I’ve been arranging to have a new pupil for private lessons.”

Diaval stared at her for a moment. Then, finally, “I thought you told me that you didn’t give private lessons.”

“This is a _special_ case,” she said, trying very hard to keep her face impassive.

“Oh, indeed,” he said. “And what would this pupil’s name be?”

“Phillip Albrecht.”

Maleficent nearly lost composure at the blank uncomprehending look on Diaval’s face. He blinked a few times, then nodded, serious as he could manage. “… _Right_. Right, that’s um- that’s good. I have no idea who that is.”

Her lips twitched but she kept her voice calm. “Aurora Royce’s star partner.”

Diaval’s eyes widened a fraction. He nodded again. “I see. And I take it partners usually train at the same studio?”

“Indeed. Oh, it’s possible to find her a new partner. But another as compatible as she and Phillip are, a partner she’s bonded with and trusts - that takes time. If Stefan wants to keep her competing - and he does - he’ll have to move her here.”

“I see,” he repeated, his voice quiet, a small smile on his face. 

She nodded. “A bit more passive-aggressive than is usually my style, but it gets me what I want all the same. And if it gets poor helpless Stefan Royce a bit ruffled, all the better.”

“And this is what you want?”

“Do you really need to ask me that? You knew it better than I did.”

The smile dipped again. “Mal, I shouldn’t have said any of that to you, and we both know it.”

She shook her head. “No, you were right. And if you’d said nothing I wouldn’t have done it, still pretended I don’t care.” She sighed, rubbing one temple. “Not caring is so much easier, but it wasn’t right.”

Diaval looked unconvinced. “That still doesn’t excuse what I said about- about us-”

She lay a finger on his lips without thinking, and he shut up, dark eyes wide. They were both silent, nothing but the soft sound of the stereo playing in the background. One track finished, another beginning in it’s place.

“Diaval,” she murmured, as he took her hand away from his mouth, continuing to hold it.

“Mm?”

Here, she faltered. Diaval had been right about _them_ , and even if he was apologizing for saying so it didn’t mean it wasn’t how he felt. Maleficent had let him in, further than she had let anyone in over ten years and when that frightened her, trusting someone, she had tried to ignore it. It hadn’t been fair to him - understandable, surely, but not fair. 

“I have a favor to ask of you.”

His free hand had moved to rest just above her waist, almost unconsciously, and she cursed her heart for skipping. One week off from dancing with him and she had forgotten how it felt to be held. While his expression hardly changed she could see the nerves in the set of his mouth and the gleam in his eyes. “Alright.”

She blinked. “You don’t know what it is.”

“I said ’ _whatever you need_ ’." 

He had, too, she remembered. "Weeks ago,” she pointed out.

His lips curved into a small smile. “It didn’t have an expiration date,” he teased. “So long as it’s not _too_ distasteful.”

At that smile, Maleficent felt like a last weight had been taken from her heart. “Phillip, and Aurora, will be having private lessons here.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I’m going to need a partner, you know, to help demonstrate.”

Diaval stared at her, dumbfounded. “ _Me?_ ”

She had to smile. “You, Diaval. Who else would I have?" He said nothing and with a sigh, she added. "You’re hardly professional level, but you are more than proficient and for the purposes that’s all I need.”

“And if I didn’t?” He asked.

She pretended to consider it, “Well, I could find another partner, I suppose. But compared to one I've bonded with and trust…”

His face lit up ridiculously. “Really?”

Maleficent shook her head, “Vain man, you just want to hear me say ‘I need you’, and you know it." But Diaval was grinning, truly grinning for the first time since he’d come in and Mal couldn’t be angry with him. "Out with it, Diaval. Will you dance with me?”

Diaval rested his forehead against hers, positively beaming. “I would be glad to." 


	20. Epilogue

As Maleficent has predicted, Aurora was transferred to her studio two weeks after Phillip was. Whatever feelings her father had about the arrangement, he kept to himself. For her part, Leila Royce seemed more than happy, likely because Aurora herself was over the moon. 

Aurora and Phillip’s lessons were a weekly delight for her. The precocious girl was not only remarkably talented, but cheerful and clearly loved dancing with all her heart; she made Mal feel years younger every time she was with her. Phillip, too, was a wonderful student; far quieter than his partner, but gentle and humble and eager to please. 

They both were in awe of her, and positively _adored_ Diaval. 

Diaval, himself, stayed in Maleficent’s class as a student for another five weeks. By that point, however, there was really no point keeping him in that position when he had already become much more. No one in the class was surprised when she introduced him as an assistant instructor the following week. In fact, as it turned out, the sisters Tricia, Phillis and Nora had taken bets on how long it would be before this happened.

Assisting with all her classes meant she saw him more than once or twice a week. Seeing him more than once a week meant soon enough she was making plans to see him outside of classes - not just when he was in the neighborhood and she was having a panic attack. And seeing him more often made it harder to ignore the way she had come to feel about him. So she stopped trying.

He came with her when she went to Aurora’s competitions - a requirement now that she was her instructor - as much for her sake as it was for pride in _their_ student as he now called Aurora. He made no attempt to deny this, only told her it made sense since she hardly _needed_ his support anymore. 

It was true; while Maleficent would never feel comfortable in the life she had left behind ten years ago, she adjusted admirably, she thought. She was quiet, didn’t try to reconnect with any other competitors or instructors who might remember her, but she was able to breathe and able to focus and that was more than she had expected. Perhaps she was being strong for Aurora. Perhaps, Aurora had made her strong. 

The girl, like Diaval, was also naturally good at reading her. Something that both amused and unnerved Mal in equal measure. 

“Why don’t you and Diaval compete?” She asked, some months after becoming her pupil. When Mal opened her mouth to reply, Aurora quickly added, “Not big competitions, I know you don’t like those. But small ones, local things. You miss it, don’t you?”

Mal remembered saying something noncommittal to her, and ignored the look on Diaval’s face for the rest of the class.

Of course, the stubborn man had to bring it up once they were at her apartment.

( _Their_ apartment, he’d say, as he’d been spending an increasing amount of time there, and had an increasing number of his things beginning to clutter it. Nesting, he’d tell her when she brought it up. 

She’d tell him if he made too many more bird related puns he’d find meal worms in his breakfast.)

“So?”

“No, Diaval,” she said, firmly.

Grinning, wholly unperturbed, he leaned back on her couch. “Aurora is right, love. You’re restless, I can tell.”

She groaned. “You are far too observant,” she told him, plopping unceremoniously beside him.

“It’s a talent.”

“You’d hate it,” she said flatly. “Competing. You don’t have the temperament for it at all.”

He nodded. “No, I agree with you there. So, maybe competitions aren’t the right answer…”

Mal looked at him, suddenly wary. “Why do I have the horrible feeling you have another solution in mind?”

Diaval said nothing, simply pulling from the pocket of his jacket a crumpled flier. For Swing Dancing classes.

“ _No_ , Diaval.”

“Oh, come on. It’s a challenge, it’s _exactly_ what you need.”

“You just want to learn yourself.”

“That’s part of it - and if you don’t come with me I’d have to partner with someone else and neither of us want that.” She glared at him. “Seriously, Mal, I really think it’s worth trying, though. Are you so afraid you’ll fall?”

Those word spoken by anyone else would have angered her, but Diaval she knew. She knew the words held just enough challenge to irk her, but also carried in them a reminder. She was not Stefan Royce’s partner anymore, she _didn’t_ have to be afraid to fall, to struggle. And maybe it would be nice to have someone struggling at her side. 

So she squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye and said, “I am not afraid.”

And Diaval beamed at her.

“Well come on, then. Dance with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote! I had fun revisiting this fic and bringing it over here! :)


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